


The Home We Lost

by quantumgirl



Series: Vulcan-Human Hybrids [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Kid Fic, Kids, M/M, Sort of kid fic but the kids are old, i'll add more tags as i go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumgirl/pseuds/quantumgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is sick. Amanda and Selik take it upon themselves to find a cure...a cure that happens to be stuck on Vulcan-that-was, a place they've never been, with a grandmother they never met. </p>
<p>Spock and Kirk's children decide to take a jaunt over to Vulcan-that-was when their father gets sick. They end up getting to meet their long-dead grandmother and quite young versions of their fathers. Some feels and amusement follows. </p>
<p>This is a sequel, but you don't have to have read the first work. Only know that Spock and Kirk have a boy and a girl named Selik and Amanda. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Amanda Kirk was struggling to stay awake in her general cosmology course when she first sensed that something was wrong with one of her family members. Her head had been lolling in her palm, her stylus long forgotten on her desk, when a jolt of fear so cold and raw went through her skull that she jerked upright in her chair. 

Zak Scott, who was sitting next to her, snorted a laugh, thinking she had accidentally dozed off. 

She blinked a few times, trying to chase after the tendril of emotion still in her mind, but it fled too quickly for her to determine which member of her family had felt it. 

Her fingers activated her PADD deftly and she opened a message to Selik:

>>Did you feel that?<<

She could feel Zak watching her, but she ignored him, tapping her fingers against her desk nervously. 

When the class ended, with still no word from Selik, she immediately started to comm him. 

“Are you alright, Amanda?” Zak asked, running after her as she departed the classroom.

Amanda waved Zak off, trying to focus on her call with Selik. He answered after only a minute. “Hello Amanda.”

“Hey, Se, was that you? And why didn’t you return my message?” 

“I do not know to what you are referring,” her brother said. She could imagine his raised eyebrow. “I did not have my communicator within sight.”

“I just…I think something is wrong with Dad.” Amanda started chewing on her lower lip, a habit that her brother deplored.

“Explain.”

“Well I was in class and I just felt this…terror almost?” Zak was watching her with his eyes wide. “And I can’t imagine _Sa’mekh_ losing control like that.”

“Are our fathers not off planet?”

“I—” Amanda had to recall the time. “No, they’re at Earth Spacedock. Easily within my telepathic range for Dad.”

“I see. You should make contact with them. Perhaps it was a minor slip of control.”

“A minor slip of terror?” Amanda’s voice rose on the words.

“The probability that they have run into life-endangering trouble at Earth Spacedock is less than 5 percent.”

“Selik, that is not entirely comforting.”

“Comm them before you start to panic, and please inform me of their status.”

“Okay, okay. Bye, Selik.”

“Peace and long life,” Selik responded, in perfect Vulcan.

Amanda rolled her eyes and ended the call. Being around Vulcans all of the time made her brother somewhat insufferable these days. At very least, it seemed like he was finally fitting in at the VSA.

“Hey, you alright?” Zak asked, his eyes wide with worry. He had Uhura’s eyes, bright and intelligent, but kind. 

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I just need to call my dads.”

Making a call to the _Enterprise_ was usually a difficult process, involving waiting for subspace amplifiers and syncing her schedule with the relative one of a space-faring vessel. But the _Enterprise_ was due for shore leave, a long one at that, and Amanda could probably reach one of her father’s personal comms from here.

She elected for her Vulcan father. He was easiest to get information from in an efficient manner. 

“Hello Amanda,” her Father said without preamble. “I had not expected a call from you until we had arrived in San Francisco.”

“I…are you both alright?” She started to wonder if she had imagined the terror. Her Father certainly sounded calm. Albeit the Vulcan parent would be the one most adept at hiding a problem. 

“Yes, Amanda. Docking procedures are proceeding smoothly.”

“I just…I felt something,” she felt stupid now, like maybe she had dreamed the whole thing. She _had_ been beginning to doze off in class.

“You have inherited Jim’s ability to be vague to the point of incommunicability.” Her Father’s voice was dry, but there was something off about it. The easiest way for a Vulcan not to lie was to divert the conversation.

“I felt terror, _Sa’mekh_ , and it came from my bond centers.”

The sigh that came through the communicator made Amanda’s stomach flop. “Amanda—”

“Father, you have never lied to me. Please do not start now.”

“I was not going to lie,” he assured. “We should meet this evening. I will prepare dinner at the apartment. Is 1900 acceptable?”

“Are you okay?” Amanda’s voice shook.

“Please, calm yourself, _ko’fu_.” Her Father’s voice was gentle. That scared her more than anything. “I will see you this evening. Live long and prosper.”

“Peace and long life,” she murmured back, feeling numb. 

She put her communicator away, feeling exhausted suddenly. Zak put an arm around her shoulders and started steering her. 

“Let’s go get lunch with Noah,” he said with a forced smile. 

“I just want to go collapse and not think about anything.”

“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Zak shrugged. “I mean, they’re Kirk and Spock. They survive everything.”

Amanda allowed herself to be steered to the Starfleet cafeteria, where Noah McCoy often met them for lunch. She pulled her communicator back out and sent a simple message to her brother.

>>Something is wrong.<<


	2. Chapter 2

As he and Jim entered into their apartment, Spock allowed his shoulders to slump and a short huff to escape his lips. Jim, who carried their bags, set them down gently and turned to his bondmate, a sad smile on his lips. 

“Can I get you anything?” The Human asked, his voice gentle. 

Spock shook his head. “I require rest.”

“If you want to sleep, I can cook dinner.”

“I told Amanda I would cook. I thought I would make her favorite dish.” Spock met Jim’s eyes.

“Amanda’s coming over tonight?”

“I…” Spock sighed, his weariness seeping into his voice. “She felt my loss of control earlier at Spacedock.” 

“Oh.”

“I promised an explanation.”

Jim moved closer to the Vulcan, lifting his hands slowly to Spock’s neck. “Are you sure you want to tell them now?”

“I must. I will not lie to my daughter.”

Jim nodded. “I agree.” He smiled ruefully. “She will tell Selik, and they will worry.” 

“Which is why I have waited for three months, Jim.” 

“McCoy and M’Benga haven’t given up hope yet.” Jim pulled Spock closer so that their foreheads touched and their minds were very nearly one unit. “And neither have I. You’re supposed to outlive me by at least a hundred years, Spock.”

Spock said nothing, letting Jim’s hope and optimism wash over him. After allowing himself the luxury of basking in the bond for a few moments, he pulled away and quirked his lips in a half smile. 

“I will rest for a short while. Will you chop vegetables while I do so?”

“Absolutely. I’m fantastic at cubing plomeek.” Jim winked and sent assurance down their bond as Spock left to meditate. He had a feeling that this evening would be emotionally taxing; things almost always were with Amanda.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Sweetheart,” Jim said fondly when Amanda smiled brightly at him as he opened the door. 

“Dad!” She squeaked and hurled her arms around him in a bear hug. 

“Space misses you,” he said by way of informing her that the Enterprise crew missed her. 

“Must be terribly dull without me,” she responded. Although she showed no outward signs, Jim could sense enough of her emotions when they touched that she was suspicious. Her mind probed his through their family bond, snaking along his consciousness, trying to gauge what was wrong. 

“Amanda.” He pulled slowly away from the hug, meeting her eyes while still holding her shoulders. “It isn’t me.” 

Emotions flickered across her features, fading from confusion to alarm quickly. She looked to the kitchen, where Spock leaned against the doorframe, watching them solemnly, listening to their conversation. 

Her breath caught, and she immediately went to her Vulcan father. 

They were the same height, with matching heads of thick, shining Vulcan hair. Amanda was even styling her hair in a pixie cut recently, which caused her resemblance to Spock to raise to a frightening degree. 

When she reached her Vulcan father, Jim was struck by how utterly similar they appeared. Yet, while Amanda displayed her dismay openly, Spock hid his thoughts everywhere but his eyes, which were taking in his daughter as if he would not see her again.

“Amanda,” Spock said softly.

“Can…can I?” She lifted her fingers to the level of his head, hovering over his psi points. 

Spock hesitated, obviously worried, before he nodded reluctantly. 

When her fingers joined her father’s psi points, both of their eyes fluttered closed. After only a moment, Amanda let out a strangled sob that twisted Jim’s heart. 

Spock pulled her fingers away, grasping her wrists gently but firmly. He did not let them go when their eyes opened, and Amanda’s brown eyes met his. Hers were beginning to fill with tears. 

“Father, you’ve been sick for months,” she accused, sounding less angry than sorrowful. 

“I did not wish to worry you if nothing came of it.” 

“But now?”

“Doctors McCoy and M’Benga have been working relentlessly, little one,” Spock said gently. 

“I’m not little,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You have to tell me when you’re sick.”

“I am sick, _ko’fu_.”

Amanda started crying fully then, and she moved to wrap her arms around Spock’s neck, darkening the fabric of his shirt with her tears. 

Jim moved to rub her back, trying to suppress his curiosity over what exactly Amanda had felt in the meld. She sometimes had a better sense of Spock than he did, since she was just about as telepathically gifted as her Vulcan parent. 

“I can help,” she said suddenly, pulling away from Spock; her tears stopped and her fingers wiped at her eyes furiously. “I can talk to Noah and Selik, and we can help.”

“We have been in contact with Doctors and Mind Healers from Vulcan-that-was. We have the very best in the field working on him, Amanda.” Jim informed her. He smiled weakly. “Although I’m sure a Starfleet Cadet, a Starfleet medical student, and a member of the New Vulcan Science Academy could give them a run for their money.”

“Do you know _anything_?” She looked between them both, her eyes pleading.

Spock sighed deeply. “The symptoms appear similar in nature to Bendii Syndrome: fatigue, loss of emotional control, and fever. However, I am far too young to have succumbed to the syndrome, and my synapses do not have the same level of degeneration as expected. However, it is possible that my Human half is changing the progression of the illness or its presentation. We know very little. I am not reacting to any known neurological rebuilding protocols.”

“Have you talked to, you know, older Spock?” Amanda shrugged.

Spock nodded. “He did not succumb to the illness at my age in his timeline.”

“Doesn’t that imply it’s something you caught? Wouldn’t he have it if it were genetic?”

“Not necessarily.” Spock shook his head tiredly. “Even genetic predispositions can be triggered by environment.”

“There has to be something!” Amanda’s voice cracked. “You’re not even half a century old yet. Vulcans just don’t _die_ of illnesses this young.”

They all stopped breathing at her use of the word _die_. Even she snapped her jaw shut and looked down. No one said anything for a while, letting her words bounce around in the empty room. 

“We have some time until…until _that_ , Sweetie.” Jim lifted her chin to meet his eyes, his captain voice blending with one of fatherly authority. 

“Even Bendii Syndrome can take multiple years before death occurs,” Spock added. “And my case is progressing more slowly than usual.”

“But Bendii patients lose coherency far before death. You’ll lose control of your telepathy. You’ll become a danger to those around you. More than likely, even _dad_ would have a hard time being around you.” Amanda’s voice equaled Jim’s in severity, and no one offered any counterarguments to her point. 

Spock was not looking at her, instead focusing on some point over Amanda’s shoulder. 

“Come on, guys. Let’s have dinner.” Jim forced a smile and motioned to herd them to the dining table. “I haven’t seen my daughter in six months, and I fully expect to hear about how much better she’s doing at the academy than I did.”

“But Dad—”

“No,” Jim said firmly. “Your father is ill, yes. But we’re not going to act like he is dead right now, Amanda T’Karik. He is right there, and we are going to keep on living, because that’s what we do in this family.”

Amanda nodded and dropped her eyes to her feet, fully chastised. “You’re right.” She took a deep breath and when her head raised, she was forcing a smile. “I’ve missed you both…and I’m not only out-scoring Dad’s scores,” she said, looking to Spock. “I’ve got a perfect score in Astro’ right now.”

Spock met her eyes and smirked. “I only missed one question on the Astrophysics final.”

“Shameful.” Her smile was genuine now. “I’ll get perfect, promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What was the extent of the degeneration? Which protocols have M’Benga and McCoy tried? Could you sense—” Selik was as close to blabbering as Amanda had ever heard him. The sound of furious tapping was audible through her speakers.

“Selik, stop,” Amanda said with a sigh. 

Her brother’s jaw snapped shut as he regained his control. She had thought he might panic a little, but her brother’s form of panicking was to obtain as much information as possible. 

He lifted his fingers from the console, and his bright blue eyes focused on her through the viewscreen at the terminal in her dorm room. 

“I’m going to go talk to Uncle Bones tomorrow,” she said, watching him closely. “He should be in town a little while longer before going to Georgia, according to Dad at least.”

Selik nodded. “You should obtain as much information as you can from him.”

“Obviously.”

“I mean _as much as possible_.” Selik shifted slightly, revealing some discomfort with his words. 

Amanda chuckled and raised her eyebrows. “Are you saying you want me to hack dear Uncle Bones’ medical files?”

“Do not pretend as if you had any other intention.”

“You didn’t even need to suggest it, and you know it.” She rolled her eyes. “In return, you should mess around with the VSA’s medical files if you can. But we both know how interminably hard-assed Vulcan’s can be about keeping telepathic medical conditions on the down low for mere Earthlings.”

Selik grimaced at her words, obviously quite disappointed in her vernacular, but he should be used to it by now, honestly. Amanda smirked. Although he largely resembled a slightly slimmer version of James Kirk, he could look remarkably Vulcan when he was uncomfortable. 

“I have already compiled some information. The search has been preliminary, however. I am sure M’Benga has access to this information.”

“New eyes perusing it won’t hurt.”

“Indeed,” Selik agreed. 

Amanda turned contemplative, and she started messing with the hem of her t-shirt. “He was in a lot of pain, Selik.”

Selik’s eyes held no reaction, but he was watching her closely. “Could he control it?”

“Yeah, to an extent, when he was well rested.” She sighed. “I went digging beyond surface thoughts. I experienced severe vertigo and scorching hot pain.”

Her brother’s expression remained calm and controlled. “Vertigo and burning are telepathic projections of confusion and nerve damage.” 

“I am aware.” She bit her lip. “I think it’s already pretty bad, Se. We’re lucky he’s a powerful telepath. He can hold off the worst of it.”

“He should have resigned his commission earlier,” Selik commented. 

“They have a year on Terra this time around,” Amanda shrugged. “Dad’s probably gonna be asked to be an Admiral again and will probably want to turn it down again. But if _Sa’mekh_ can’t go back out…I don’t see Dad leaving him.”

“Of course not. They are _t’hy’la_.”

The siblings were both silent for a moment.

“We have to figure this out, Selik. We _have_ to.”

“ _Sa’mekh_ is young and healthy. His chances of succumbing to an illness are…low.”

Amanda noted that he didn’t use numerical odds, which either meant they weren’t as low as she would like or that Selik was being gentle with her. Either way, she figured she could hassle him more about what he knew later…once she had researched more as well. 

“I’m going to tell Noah. He has access to more medical information than I do.”

Selik’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What is the status of your relationship with Noah McCoy?”

Amanda grinned ruefully. “Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

Selik actually rolled his eyes. She was glad that the Vulcans hadn’t taken all of his fun away yet. 

“I will return to my studies,” he told her. “I will contact you when I have amassed more information and forward you anything that I find relevant through a secured channel.”

“Same. See ya, Selik.” She waved.

Selik formed the _ta’al_. “Live long and prosper.”

When her viewscreen went dark, the silence echoed interminably in her dorm room. She checked the several programs she had running on her computer. One was carefully combing through Dr. Leonard McCoy’s medical files for any references to Vulcans, telepathy, or hybrid physiology. Another was doing the same to Dr. Geoff M’Benga’s files. She had an even subtler program trying to make its way into Starfleet Medical’s databases. 

Unfortunately Starfleet Medical was the most difficult at present. She had more experience with hacking personal files. Heaven knows she had done it far too many times while living on the _Enterprise_. But Starfleet’s medical files were some of the highest priority in all of the Federation. 

She frowned at the locations where her program failed, wrote a few new strings of code, some more elegant functions, threw in a few diagnostic loops to get a better feel for the security, and then sent the program back into the field. 

Amanda then did something she rarely did. Amanda T’Karik Kirk changed into her meditation robes—one of three pairs of Vulcan clothing that she owned. 

The process of securing herself in the loose, yet complicated fabric reminded her of her Father and calmed her. 

She looked at herself in the mirror. The upswept eyebrows and pointed ears seemed to stand out more against the black of her robes. She looked like Spock, and at this moment, she wished that she could take his place. 

Amanda folded herself gracefully onto her meditation mat, falling into the position that her Father had drilled into her—with varying degrees of success—long ago. With a deep exhale, she let her mind drift. Surak’s precepts immediately started to whisper through her mind, like wind through the forest of her thoughts. 

She successfully meditated for almost two hours, losing track of time except for the small awareness of it in her brainstem. Spock and Selik would have been proud.

A light knock on her door aroused her from her meditative state, and when she blinked, she felt more calm and collected than she had in a long time. 

The time was 01:47, and she had no idea who might be at her door at this hour. 

Noah McCoy stood on the other side of the door. He was wearing Starfleet Medical Scrubs. His brown hair was messy, and his eyes were blood shot. 

“Meditation robes?” he asked, by way of greeting.

“Yeah,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“That bad, huh?” His eyes gentled. 

“Vulcans meditate. It doesn’t mean I’m screwed up.” She stood out of the way to let him into the room. 

He strolled in with a sigh. “Yeah, but you don’t meditate unless you’re on the verge of a panic attack.”

She closed the door behind him, considering if he was right or not. When she realized that 87.654% of the times that she meditated were during extremely stressful events, she chose not to answer. 

“Why are you here at 2 in the morning?” She asked instead.

“I was just getting off duty at my internship in the ER.” He collapsed on her bed without invitation, the datapad in his hand falling on his stomach as he splayed his arms. 

Amanda replaced herself on the ground, on her meditation mat, watching him. 

“I had a transmission from your brother, of all people,” he continued. “The only words in the message are ‘Here is preliminary data and information. More detailed information will be forthcoming.’ And then there’s something like a hundred attachments to Vulcan medical texts and scientific papers.”

Amanda sighed, realizing that she should have foreseen her brother acting immediately. It had been early in the day on New Vulcan. 

“Since I don’t know all that many Vulcans, I figured something had gone to shit with my favorite Vulcans.” Noah sat up, his eyes conveying his sympathy despite the exhaustion in them. “Are you okay, ‘Manda?” 

She stood and moved to sit across from him. He watched her closely, as if he could sense any problems.

“Spock is sick,” she said softly as the bed creaked beneath her. The meditation had given her enough control that her voice did not crack. 

Noah frowned. “How bad?”

“Worse than he’s making it out to be. Hopefully better than I am.” She knew how weary she sounded, but this was Noah.

“How…what do you know?”

Amanda told him what little she knew, and she could see as his mind started turning over possibilities. He was young and untrained, but much like his Father, he took to medicine like a fish to water. 

“I’ll get started right away,” he said firmly, meeting her eyes. “I’ll help with whatever I can.”

“That’s why I told you. And you actually spend all day thinking about illnesses. Selik and I don’t. So your perspective is appreciated.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed slightly in concern. “Are you okay?”

Amanda smiled wanly. “I’m Vulcan.”

He reached out a hand and let it settle on her shoulder, no skin contact. “I’m here for you. Always and anything you need.”

She settled her hand on his, her telepathy recognizing him immediately. His mind was easily the most familiar to her outside of her family. In some ways, his mind was like her Father’s: gentle but sharp. But his emotional competency was beyond anything a Vulcan, even a hybrid like herself, could fathom.

Noah’s pupils dilated slightly at the telepathic influx, but he adjusted quickly and winked at her. Fondness and a jumble of lust/attraction/tenderness trickled through the connection. 

Amanda pulled away, not quite feeling up to dealing with his emotions at this moment. 

“I’ve seen your dads get out of worse than this,” Noah said, settling his hand back in his lap. “We’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Noah,” she said sincerely, offering him her best smile.

Noah grinned. “Us McCoys will be taking care of the Kirks for generations to come.”

“Shut up.” She shoved him lightly. “The McCoys wouldn’t know what to do without Kirks to make life interesting.” 

Noah rolled his eyes but laughed all the same. 

\/\/\\\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Jim knew what his kids were doing. He assumed they would do something like this as soon as they knew about Spock’s illness, but he didn’t bother to check until about a month after he and Spock had told Amanda. 

All the same, he was shocked at the sheer amount of programming he traced to his daughter’s computer. By simply looking at how much hard drive space she had filled, he knew she had probably downloaded everything Bones and M’Benga had, plus some. He knew, as a well-respected and high-ranking member of Starfleet, he should probably report that a Cadet had most likely compromised their medical files. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to honestly care.

On the one hand, he knew that the chance of Selik and Amanda finding anything that McCoy or M’Benga had not was slim. His kids were brilliant and passionate, but they were so young still. However, he knew that they _had_ to do something because they were his and Spock’s children. Of course, they would try their hardest until they had exhausted every avenue. 

So instead of saving his findings of Amanda’s computer history, he deleted everything he had found. He would be a horrible hypocrite if he told his kids to stop doing something that he would do in a heartbeat and had done for the last few months. 

“Jim?” Spock said from the doorway of his office. 

“Hey Spock,” he said, shutting his terminal down. 

“Would you like to accompany me to lunch?” Spock was wearing his professorial blacks, his arms tucked neatly behind his back. 

“Yeah, sure.” Jim smiled. 

“How are your classes progressing?” 

Jim relished how normal this felt, how comfortable, when Spock was discussing work and not Vulcan telepathic illnesses. 

“Great. I’ve got a brilliant group of seniors.”

Spock’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Are you using our old mission logs for teaching again?” 

“Well of course, but I supplement with other logs.”

“I do not believe Captain Sulu’s mission logs count as diversification in curriculum, Jim.” 

“I swear, I use other missions.” Jim chuckled. “And how’s the world of science?”

“My experiments are progressing well.” Spock tilted his head. “And I am teaching first year cadets this summer. They are exceedingly…immature.”

“Your daughter is only finishing her first year,” Jim reminded. 

“Amanda’s maturity surpasses that of my students, I assure you.”

“Proud dad,” Jim accused, bumping Spock with his shoulder.

Spock met Jim’s eyes, his expression soft. “I assure you, my analysis of the situation is unbiased.”

“Dirty Vulcan liar.”

Spock shrugged minutely.

Jim grinned, matching Spock’s stride as they exited the Academy onto the front lawn.

He could not help but inspect Spock’s gait as they made their way to Spock’s favorite restaurant for lunch. His bondmate looked good today, his face untroubled and his posture straight. 

Jim moved closer to him, letting his fingers gently rest on Spock’s lower back. He smiled encouragingly. “You look good today, _ashayam_.”

Spock stiffened slightly at the reference to his illness. “Dr. McCoy’s most recent treatments have alleviated the most aggravating head pain.”

“You should tell Amanda,” Jim said, thinking of the no doubt complicated project that their children had going regarding Spock. 

“I do not wish to trouble her, Jim.”

“It troubles her more when you don’t update her.”

Spock met his eyes briefly, considering. Then he nodded. “I believe you might be correct.”

“I know I’m right. You’re insane if you think either of them don’t think about what they can do every day.”

Spock sighed. “I wish they would not.”

“What would you do? If it were them?”

Twenty years ago, Spock might have responded with something along the lines of ‘idle speculation is illogical’ or ‘there is no logic in considering hypothetical situations which have not come to pass.’ But now, the Vulcan contemplated the question seriously. 

“I would obviously work tirelessly to determine a solution.” Spock sighed. “I believe the Terran saying is, ‘I would move heaven and earth.’”

“Exactly,” Jim agreed. 

Spock’s expression darkened immediately. “Jim, what are they doing?”

“I dunno,” he said, semi-honestly.

“I do not believe you.”

“I think they’re researching some information, but I really don’t know anything beyond that, Spock.”

“We should not—”

“Just let them,” Jim interrupted. “It’s how they deal with this, Spock. They’re your kids. They research, they hypothesize, they move heaven and earth to help. It’s who they are.”

Spock looked ready to protest, his jaw tight and his forehead wrinkled in distress. 

“They love you so much,” Jim said, a gentle smile on his face. “They need to feel like they’re doing something. You get that?”

Spock exhaled heavily and nodded. “I suppose.”

“We can intervene if their studies suffer, I promise.” Jim clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s get some lunch. I’m starving.” 

Spock let the subject drop, following Jim into the restaurant. “Do not get the _sha’vah_ tea again, Jim. You recall your reaction last time.”

“But it’s so spicy!”

“Jim.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Have a long update! Cheers!

The most curious side effect of the illness plaguing Spock’s mind was that he had begun to experience dreams. Dreams were a very human phenomenon, the subconscious method by which the species sorted and dealt with a wide array of stimuli experienced during waking hours.

Spock’s mental landscape had always held more similarities with his father’s race than his mother’s. As such, he had always processed information as Vulcans do: by meditation. 

He was not sure if the dreams were a side effect of the illness directly or of his own exhaustion. He had been sleeping more than ever before, nearly six hours per night now, and when he did sleep, he achieved a deeper state of sleep than he had ever experienced, something closer to REM sleep in humans. 

Still his dreams were not, as he understood it, quite exactly like those of humans. For the most part, he relived his past, his eidetic memory bringing him through the corridors of his mind with clarity that he was certain humans did not experience, if Jim’s bleary-eyed descriptions of absurd dreams were anything to go by.

He was nearly always lucid in his dreams, simultaneously reliving a memory but also aware that physically he was in his bed, Jim beside him, fast asleep. 

Spock supposed that the dream he was having now could be qualified as a nightmare.

“Spock, they have our children!” Dream-Jim was screaming at him. The Captain’s command gold was dulled with dirt and torn at the junction of his left arm and torso. 

“I am aware, Jim,” Spock said, sounding calm to his own ears. Even though Spock was aware of the fact that he was dreaming, his mind forced him to relive not only the actions but also the emotions of the day. The terror was bitter in his stomach, the fury bright in his mind. 

“Why the fuck are we here then?” Jim kicked his desk chair, grimacing in pain. 

“We have been relieved of duty by Starfleet.”

“And Uhura and Scotty _let_ them, Spock. What the hell?” 

“As our offspring are the most recent victims of the kidnappers in this sector, we are emotionally compromised.”

“You don’t look emotionally compromised.”

“Jim,” Spock’s voice was patient. “You of all people should know that the emotions I show do not necessarily reflect the reality within.”

Jim crumpled, his eyes softened and his jaw loosened. “Damn it, Spock. I’m sorry. I’m just…I can’t deal with this.”

“We can and will. Uhura and Scotty make a formidable command team. Aside from ourselves, I would trust no one else to retrieve our children more swiftly.”

“We should have taken a position on Terra.” Jim met Spock’s eyes with pain. “Taking our kids on a starship was incredibly selfish. They’re only five!”

Spock did not say anything, but his fingers tightened behind his back. He watched Jim collapse on their bed, breathing deeply, obviously fighting tears. 

“Two Vulcan children were stolen from New Vulcan in the last two months,” Spock said into the silence. “Four Tellarite youth were taken from Tellar. Two Humans and one Orion were taken from Earth Spacedock. Jim, the universe is dangerous. Perhaps our children would have been safer in San Francisco, but that is by no means a statistical certainty. Indeed as our children, they will always be targets.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Jim asked, his voice raw now. 

“No. It is a statement of fact. I personally would rather have the firepower and manpower of a _Constitution_ class starship to defend my offspring.”

“We don’t _have_ this ship right now. Starfleet relieved us.”

“We will arrive at the last known hub of the traders in half an hour.” Spock sat on the bed next to Jim, putting his pointer and middle fingers on his bondmate’s temple in a show of emotional solidarity. “I believe we can convince our acting Captain and First Officer to assign us to an away team in that time period.”

The dream melted as the scene shifted, the bright white and silver of their quarters fading into dark brown and grey. The smell of re-circulated air was replaced by the scent of rust and mud and blood.

Spock held a phaser. Jim and Dr. McCoy flanked him, with three other crewmembers bringing up the rear. They had just teleported down into a warehouse on the planet that they believed the pirates used to store their goods.

The room was too quiet, but Spock could sense the touch of minds from all around him. “There are living beings in this room,” he said to the rest of the away team. He knew that the bridge was probably listening in as well. Nyota had their frequencies. 

“Sir?” one of the security team whispered to him. “I see cages over here.”

Selik was there, huddled into the corner of a cell with two other children. Jim and Spock took that cage, easily breaking the lock mechanism and opening the door. 

The two other children looked human. They had dark hair and bright green eyes that watched Spock and Jim with fear. 

“Hey, it’s alright, we’re Starfleet. We’re here to rescue you.” Jim’s voice was gentle, and although he addressed the two strangers, his eyes never left Selik. 

Selik had not opened his eyes when the cage opened. He was settled into a Vulcan meditation pose, his face oddly serene, despite the dingy surroundings and even worse state of his clothing. 

At the sound of Jim’s voice, Selik’s eyes snapped open, the blue irises zoning in on his fathers immediately. 

“Selik,” Jim said softly, holding out a hand. He did not make a move to touch his son. He was waiting for Selik to reach out to him. 

Spock realized that Jim’s actions were slow in case Selik had endured abuse at the hands of his captors, and Spock was filled with nausea. On the heels of the nausea was an all encompassing _rage_ that someone _dare_ harm his child. 

Selik barely hesitated before grabbing his dad’s hand. Jim pulled him gently closer until the boy was nestled safely in his chest. 

Selik began crying in earnest. At this age, Selik was only just growing adept at meditation. His control over emotions was hardly better than a particularly sedate human. Spock could not find any fault in his reaction at this time. 

“I’ve got you, buddy. You’re safe.” Jim was stroking the boy’s back, and Spock could see the beginnings of tears in Jim’s eyes. 

Spock, despite his desire to go to Jim and Selik, helped the other two children out of the cage. 

Dr. McCoy was scanning a group of eight children collected by the rest of the away team. McCoy looked up at Spock as the Vulcan added two more to the group. 

“Selik is with Jim.” Spock’s eyes surveyed the group. “All of the children in this warehouse are human,” he observed. “Or at least appear to be,” he amended, thinking of Selik. 

McCoy nodded, looking back to his tricorder. “Any sense of Amanda?” 

“Only that she lives,” Spock said, his chest feeling tight. 

Jim walked up with Selik on his hip. The boy had his arms tightly around Jim’s neck, his face nestled into collarbone. 

Spock let the tips of his fingers brush against Selik’s forehead, lulling the boy into sleep and sending a sense of _calm_ through their bond. The boy’s small fingers relaxed on Jim’s shirt and his breathing evened out. 

“I must continue to search,” Spock told Jim softly. “You and Dr. McCoy should beam back up with these children. Our scans showed that they check this warehouse every hour. We do not have much time.”

“Keep Bones. None of these kids are seriously injured,” Jim said softly, his eyes tight with pain. “I’d stay with you but…I don’t think he should be alone.”

“Of course,” Spock agreed. They had decided long ago that as long as they had children on the ship, they should not be on away teams together. Too much could go wrong, and their children deserve at least one parent. 

“Fight like hell, Spock,” Jim said, which did not make a lot of sense, but Spock accepted the sentiment.

Jim beamed up the children, leaving Spock with the rest of the away team. 

Spock _knew_ how this memory ended. He, McCoy, and the rest of the team found a room with the more “exotic” captures. Here they found Vulcans, Klingons, Orions, Tellarites, and Andorians. 

Here they found Amanda. Spock remembered how he found her in her cell. She had been put alone, a small mercy for the telepathic child. Her arms had been covered in green bruises, her cheek broken with the force of a backhand. 

Her eyes were defiant when he opened the cage door, ready to fight and kick and scream, and Spock realized then how she got her bruises. Amanda had always been Jim’s child. 

When she had seen her Father, she had attacked him with a ferocity that rivaled a Klingon. “Daddy! Father!” She rarely called him ‘daddy,’ saving the human term of endearment for Jim. 

Spock held her tightly while they escaped the warehouse. 

That was how the memory _should_ have ended. 

That is not what happened now. 

Spock opened her cage. Amanda’s wild eyes did not meet his. Her small five-year old body was limp in the corner of the cage, sprawled against the bars as if she had been thrown there. 

He fell to his knees at her side, turning her body gently onto her back. She did not stir, and her skin was too cold to the touch. Green blood was smeared from her mouth to her chin. 

Spock’s fingers found her meld points swiftly, and he attempted to meld. Nothing occurred. 

The tiny body jerked beneath him, and her head tilted to reveal the burn of disruptor fire at her temple. One breath escaped her mouth and then she was still. 

He became suddenly, painfully aware of his bond with her. He reinforced his hold. The bond was not gone. She could not be dead. 

And yet here her body lay, her dark hair matted with blood and her tiny fingers limp and unresponsive in his hands. He picked her up, cradling her to his chest. 

“Amanda, no,” he said softly, illogically. It was illogical to protest a fact, and yet he must. 

This was _not_ what happened. This was _wrong_. _Wrong._

Or was it wrong? It _felt_ real. Her lifeless body was nearly weightless in his arms, her heartbeat silent against his abdomen. 

Was this a dream? Was he losing his sanity? Did the loss of his daughter make him wish it were a dream? 

Spock tried to call out to McCoy, but he could not form the words. His throat was caught, stuck, broken. He tried to yell, for Jim, for McCoy, for Amanda, for Selik, for Sarek, for his mother. But nothing happened. He held his dead daughter and slumped against the dirty cage. 

Defeated. He closed his eyes.

“Spock!” Jim’s voice. He blinked.

He was not in a cage. The air was clean. He took a rough breath. 

“Daddy,” his daughter’s voice, pained, older than it should be. He blinked again.

He was in his apartment in San Francisco. He had been…he had been dreaming. 

Amanda was seated next to him on his bed, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m okay, _Sa’mekh_ ,” she whispered. 

Spock lifted himself, his arms feeling too weak for the simple motion. 

“Spock, are you okay?” Jim was kneeling next to him, his hands hovering, unsure what to do. 

“I was dreaming,” he said, confusion evident in his tone. “Why are you here, Amanda?” 

She sucked in a breath. “You were…calling for me.” She reached up and tapped her own forehead. 

Spock examined his own mind and found her bond strained, as if it had been cramping for too long and was sore. 

“I apologize, _ko’fu_.”

Amanda took a deep breath and smiled at him. He had been around humans long enough to know a fake smile when he saw one. 

She sniffled through her nose, a wet sound, and she rubbed over it with the back of her hand. With horror, Spock watched her hand come away green. 

“I have injured you,” Spock said, sounding calmer than he felt. “Call Leonard, Jim.”

“Selik’s already gone to get him,” Amanda told him, wiping the blood off her hand onto her pants, darkening the fabric. “I’m alright. It’s not a big deal.”

Jim’s mouth was set in a grim line, watching them both. 

“Was Selik similarly affected?” Spock asked, watching Amanda closely for any other symptoms.

She shook her head. 

Spock moved to get off the bed, and Amanda quickly moved out of the way. She held out a hand, but he ignored it, suppressing a sigh. 

“Maybe you should stay sitting down, Spock,” Jim said, hesitantly.

Spock opened his mouth to reply when the sound of people entering the apartment stopped him. 

Selik entered the room with Dr. McCoy following behind him. The boy was as tall as Amanda, rivaling Spock in height. He wore Vulcan robes consistently now, and somehow managed to look as Vulcan as any of his homeworld despite the unique blonde phenotype. Although he had favored Jim’s features for his entire childhood, his face now had the sharp angles of Vulcan and his eyes were solemn in a way that reminded Spock of Sarek. And yet, they were so, so blue. 

Those serious eyes were trained on him now, analytical in a way that Spock was not used to seeing on Earth. 

“What’s wrong?” Leonard said immediately. He was already pointing his tricorder at Spock.

“Doctor, if you could scan Amanda, I believe you will find she needs help more than I do.”

Selik’s head snapped to his sister. 

“No,” Amanda rubbed her nose again, as if to check for blood, “I’m alright. Just a bit of a headache.”

“I believe I may have inadvertently caused her telepathic trauma,” Spock said, hating that his voice shook slightly. 

Dr. McCoy turned his tricorder on Amanda, flipping the settings to her personal baseline. He murmured to himself, and Spock leaned over his shoulder to view the readout. 

“You’re fine,” the doctor said gruffly. “A bit of strain. But it’ll heal on its own.”

“Doctor,” Spock’s voice was careful, controlled. “This cannot happen again.”

“Well, yeah,” McCoy turned to him frowning. “Of course we don’t want it do happen again.”

“I did this while asleep. I no longer have control of my subconscious.” Spock met Leonard’s gaze. Aside from his own family, Dr. McCoy was easily the most familiar being in the universe to him. He knew the planes on his face and had been there for the making of the scars. 

He saw when the words penetrated Leonard’s mind, finally dawning what the Vulcan was trying to imply. “Spock, no.”

“I will not hurt my family.” His voice was calm, firm. 

“I won’t do it.”

“You must.”

“What are you talking about?” Amanda interrupted his stare-down with the doctor. She had grasped his shoulder, forcing him to take note of her presence.

“Your damn fool father wants to take telepathic inhibitors,” Dr. McCoy said, crossing his arms defiantly. 

“Wha—”

“I would appreciate you upholding patient confidentiality, Doctor,” Spock let his voice fall coldly. 

Leonard had the sense to look abashed. He stopped speaking, letting his head drop. 

“Father, you can’t do that,” Amanda was bewildered. “You’re only functioning as well as you are because of your control. If you repress your abilities…”

“Your function will decline precipitously,” Selik continued where his sister left off. “Every case of neurological failure in a Vulcan has only been worsened by mental dampening.”

Spock knew this, of course. And he noted the ease of familiarity that Selik spoke of such matters. 

“If I were only concerned about my own functionality, of course, I would not take inhibitors. As it stands, my only choices are to sever my mental bonds or dampen my telepathy. Which would you prefer, Selik?” Spock snapped, feeling his emotions rubbing raw. He hated how helpless he felt, helpless against the anger and frustration that burned at his neurons. 

Selik flinched, dropping his gaze.

“Spock,” Leonard said softly, he made an abortive motion to place his hand on Spock’s shoulder. Instead, the doctor motioned in the general direction of his head. “How about I give you something to stop dreaming? You’ve still got plenty of control when you’re awake.”

His control was still holding strong as far as he could tell when he was awake. That his condition had worsened to the point of lack of control when sleeping was alarming, but maybe not a reason to give up on other alternatives. 

He nodded shortly and glanced to his daughter, who was biting her bottom lip. 

“Amanda,” he said, gentling the edges of his tone. She looked at him, her warm brown eyes full of worry. “Promise me that if you feel any telepathy through our bond, you will tell me.”

She barely hesitated before nodding. “I promise, _Sa’mekh_.”

“Although Amanda is most likely to sense any major changes, due to proximity and telepathic sensitivity, if either of you feel anything, it is of utmost importance that I know.” Spock looked to Selik and Jim in turn. They both nodded somberly. 

“It’s a plan then,” Dr. McCoy said with a pained smile. “We’ll tackle this thing every step of the way, Spock.”

Spock sighed, wishing he were alone to meditate. “As we always have, Leonard.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AMANDA GRAYSON NEXT CHAPTER YAYYY

“You should not drink a liter of whiskey twelve hours after undergoing telepathic trauma,” Selik said dryly, watching his sister drink straight from the Kentucky Bourbon bottle on her desk. 

“Eh, I barely feel it.” She shrugged. “Plus, it wasn’t _trauma_. More like the equivalent of father screaming into my ear for an extended period of time.”

Noah McCoy grimaced over at her. He was sprawled on her bed, reading on his PADD through one of the books Selik had brought with him from New Vulcan. “Pleasant,” he commented, proceeding to take a sip of the tumbler of whiskey in his hand. 

“The duration of my visit is two weeks,” Selik reminded them. “Will we be squandering this opportunity of joint research on drinking every night?”

“Selik,” Amanda grumbled. “Dad’s illness just took a turn for the worse. I’m allowed to mourn a bit.” 

“Mourning will not cure him.” 

“Fine.” She took a final gulp from the bottle and then screwed the cap back on. “I’ll be sober in like thirty minutes anyway.”

“Noah, have you figured out that theory you had about action potentials?” Selik asked, ignoring his sister. 

“I dunno, man.” Noah’s voice was slower than usual, but not slurred. He handled his alcohol better than Amanda, even if she processed it much, much faster. He jumped into an eloquent explanation of neurobiology that left Selik somewhat impressed, although he would never tell Noah that. 

“T’Laren studied our father’s neurobiology when he was a child.” Selik said, after Noah had finished speaking. “Have you read her paper?”

“Yeah,” Noah shrugged. “She had some interesting conclusions. Mostly based off of some samples she took. My dad’s done some parallel studies recently, and everything seemed largely the same. But all evidence points to minimal neural degeneration, despite the loss of telepathic control. It makes no sense.”

Amanda had her head cradled in her hands, her eyes closed against the world. Selik was not sure if she was still injured from earlier or just drunk. 

“I’m just really tired today,” she said, as if she could sense him looking at her; perhaps she could.

“Did you see what Spock was dreaming about?” Noah asked her, his brow furrowed. 

Amanda groaned. “Yeah. I think that’s what sucked the most.” She peered at Selik through her fingers. “Remember the pirates?”

Selik remembered cold cages and fear and rust. He sorted the experience away, as he always did. It was a long time ago. He nodded at Amanda.

“He was there.” Amanda expanded. “But in his dream, I died.”

“Ouch,” Noah winced. 

“I’m just really tired of shit happening, you know?” she gestured at her computer and then at her surroundings. 

Selik sighed and went back to his reading. Amanda was pretty much useless when she was in moods like this. 

Noah murmured some words of comfort to Amanda, which Selik steadfastly ignored for his own sake. 

They all eventually fell into silence, reading their own works, sending each other anything interesting or any ideas via their communal notebook online. 

“Do you know what I’m most tired of?” Amanda questioned. 

Selik looked up at her, not expecting anything helpful to come of this. She was obviously in a bitter mood.

“The stupid Starfleet error message ‘ _Sorry, the database which you are trying to access no longer exists or has been moved._ ’” Amanda kicked at the ground, as if it were her floor’s fault. “As if Nero didn’t take enough from us. He’s gotta take all of that knowledge. God, what if the answers were there? On Vulcan? And now it’s all gone.”

Noah was nodding. “Or the VSA’s message: ‘ _The file you are attempting to retrieve has been lost._ ’ A little melodramatic for Vulcans, if you ask me.”

“The loss of the Vulcan homeworld went far beyond the loss of life,” Selik said, by way of agreement. 

“What I wouldn’t give for just a day in the old Vulcan archives.” Amanda frowned at her computer. 

Selik sighed. He was just as frustrated about the lack of knowledge as Amanda. Perhaps even moreso: he spent most of his time researching on Vulcan and was therefore intimately familiar with the information lost to his people. 

“Don’t Vulcans have eidetic memories? Can’t the surviving Vulcans re-record a lot of the knowledge?” Noah looked to Selik for the answer. 

“Although Vulcans on average have a remarkable memory, memories cannot stand for hard scientific data.” He sat his PADD down and leaned back in his chair. “Even now, a large amount of New Vulcan resources are dedicated to replicating data from key experiments. No one wants to cite data that no longer exists.”

“Oh. I guess that’s why all of those new scientific journals are coming out of New Vulcan?”

“Yes. We want a place to publish important data for experiments that may have been published on other planets, but no longer exist from Vulcan scientists.”

Amanda stood to get herself a glass of water. She was being oddly and suspiciously quiet. Her lips were tilted down as she looked at her water.

“Amanda?” Selik questioned.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening, like they did when she was a child caught breaking the rules. 

“Is something wrong?” 

She hesitated, letting her eyes dart over to Noah and around the room before settling back on her water. “I was just thinking about how unfair it is that we’ve lost all of that information.”

“The universe is not fair,” he pointed out. 

“I mean, what if we could get to it…the information?” Her voice was overly casual. 

“We cannot,” Selik said, furrowing his brow. “Even if we could, there is no guarantee that there’s any information.”

“Approximately 90% of the information on Vulcan neurobiology was completely lost.” Her voice was flat. Noah winced at the number, although it was true. “What little remains is the knowledge of mind healers. And there are only a handful of those alive.”

“Yes, but…”

“And of those, maybe one or two even advanced enough to _think_ about a case as difficult as our father’s. There’s _something_ on Vulcan-that-was. There _has_ to be.” 

From previous experience, Selik knew the fervor in Amanda’s voice needed to be broached with caution. 

“It is pointless to engage in idle speculation.” Selik kept his voice calm.

“It isn’t speculation. We’ve done it before. We could travel to Vulcan.”

Noah sucked in a breath, remembering the incident all those years ago. Selik flushed, the event both shameful and vivid in his memory. 

“No,” Selik said sharply.

“That was an accident, ‘manda.” Noah’s voice was gentle. 

“Doesn’t matter. We time travelled, Selik.” Amanda set her glass of water down and started moving her hands excitedly. Their dad did that when he was full of adrenaline as well. 

“Time travel is not something to engage in frivolously.” 

“Our father dying isn’t frivolous.”

“Alright,” Selik allowed. “But it is too dangerous. We might change the past irrevocably. We could just make things worse. Or we could get stuck there.”

“But we could find something. What if we can save him?” 

“His condition is not so dire.”

“Not yet.”

Silence. Noah was watching them closely, obviously not desiring to enter the argument, or perhaps he did not believe it to be his place.

“Even if we wanted to…to _time travel_ ,” Selik coughed on the word, “the likelihood of us creating a working time machine are negligible.”

“Hardly negligible. We _have_ created one. If we can mimic the conditions of the accidental time travel and run some tests, there’s no way we couldn’t figure out _some_ way of controlling it.”

“It would be irresponsible!” Selik stood now too, matching his sister eye to eye. “We would be performing an action that could affect millions…no, billions of lives Amanda. If we make a mistake in the past…”

“We can be careful.” 

“Careful? Your response to the possibility of world ending paradoxes is to be _careful_?”

“It’s our father! It’s _Sa’mekh_. And I cannot watch him die, Selik.” Amanda’s voice cracked, her eyes going glassy. “Not while I know there’s something I could do.”

Selik took a deep breath. He could never stand Amanda crying. “We _are_ doing something.” 

“It isn’t enough, and you know it.” Tears were filling her eyes. “Bones and M’Benga are smarter than us in this. If they haven’t found something, we probably won’t either.”

Selik looked away. He _knew_ that, intellectually. He knew that the chance of he, Noah, and Amanda finding something that professionals long in their field had not found was slim. To think that they could find anything was a folly of youth. He _knew_ that, but admitting it felt like defeat. 

Illogical.

“Then by your logic,” Selik said, his voice strained, “we should send the doctors back. Not us.”

“They’d never go. Our dads would find out. They wouldn’t let anyone risk themselves for this.”

Selik watched his sister, her brown eyes glinting with passion, her body thrumming with an excitement she had not shown since learning of their father’s illness. 

“Wait a few more months before making any decisions,” he said finally. “Doctors McCoy and M’Benga have not explored every possibility yet, and our father is still at nearly normal functionality.”

“But today…” 

“I believe it was a lapse due to exhaustion, which is understandable. No one was irrevocably injured. Hopefully Doctor McCoy’s fix will be sufficient for at least another year.”

Maybe a year was generous on his part, but there was so much conflicting data and no known timetable for what their father was experiencing. So the best prognosis that Selik could even hope to make was an inference.

Amanda knew that, of course, but she nodded. “Fine.” 

Although his sister appeared calmer now, he could see in the set of her shoulders and the spark in her eye that she had made a decision. Nothing he said could stop her or change her mind. 

Selik could only hope that they found a cure before he got desperate enough to follow his sister into certain danger. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

10 Months Later

The chime of the apartment door echoed in the silence of the evening. Jim looked up from the trashy novel he was reading. Spock, who had been napping in their bed, blinked over at Jim. 

“Are we expecting visitors?”

Jim frowned, putting a small piece of paper in his book to hold his spot. 

“No.” 

It was late, too late for a casual visitor. As Jim rose to move toward the front door, Spock wrapped himself in one of his Vulcan robes. 

When Jim opened the door, he tilted his head in surprise at the visitor.

“Noah?” 

The boy was shivering, despite being bundled in an old Starfleet Medical sweatshirt, one that had once belonged to Bones. A messenger bad was slung across his shoulders; he was grasping the strap so tightly his hands were white. He met Jim’s eyes but shifted nervously on his feet. 

“Hello, Admiral. May I come in?” 

Jim frowned. “Are Amanda and Selik alright?”

“Yes, sir. I came to see you and Mr. Spock.” 

“Alright, son. Come on in.” Jim stepped out of the doorway to let Noah in. “Do you want something to drink?”

Noah checked his watch quickly, then nodded. “Yes. Water, please.”

“Okay, go take a seat on the couch then.”

Spock met Jim’s eyes as he turned to go to the kitchen. They had been together long enough that Jim could read the confusion in Spock’s gaze, and Jim wished he had some human insight. But he was clueless. 

Jim heard Spock and Noah exchanging words in the living room. As he filled a glass of water, he tried to sort through what Noah could possibly want. 

The boy was Amanda’s on-and-off boyfriend, which Jim tried not to think about too much, and as far as he could tell, Selik and Noah were friendly. But Noah had always kept his distance from Jim and Spock, especially since the time they caught him and Amanda melding. 

“Here you go,” Jim said, offering the glass of water to the boy. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Noah took a sip of the water, and there was an uncomfortable silence. He was sitting alone on the couch. Spock sat in a chair near the couch, and Jim took another next to Spock, leaving Noah looking incredibly small and nervous by himself. 

“Mr. McCoy, what is the reason for your visit?” Spock’s tone was surprisingly gentle.

Noah looked horrifyingly guilty for a brief second before his expression cleared. “My dad is on his way.”

“Why?” Jim frowned. 

“I—” Noah checked his watch again. “My dad said he’d be here soon.”

“Noah,” Jim let the edge of authority enter his voice. “What’s going on? Are Amanda and Selik okay?”

“They’re fine, sir.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest the vague statement when the front door opened without any warning. Bones. 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Bones shuffled through the front door, obviously having used his emergency override code. 

“Nothing, Bones. We’re fine.” Jim stood for his friend, confused. “What made you think something was wrong?”

“Noah called me…” Bones eyes narrowed on his son. “What’s going on?”

Noah swallowed uncomfortably as all of the adults turned to look at him. He glanced at his watch again and took a deep breath. 

“I’m really, really sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t even begin to say how sorry.” The words spilled from Noah’s lips and his voice cracked horribly. 

Jim’s heart sunk. His brilliant, stupid children. 

“What’s going on? What are they doing?”

Bones strode over to his son and grabbed his shoulder. “Where are they? Are they in danger?”

As Jim waited for a response, he felt a slight tingling in the back of his mind, like an itch. He frowned and then—

 _Pain._ Searing pain split his skull in two. He fell to his knees, gasped with the sharpness of it. His eyes blurred, tears from the pain. He tried to focus on the ground beneath him, his fingers on the grain of the wood, but he couldn’t. 

Noah was suddenly there, pulling something out of his bag. “This should help,” the boy murmured. And then a hypo was being pressed gently into Jim’s neck. While Jim’s vision cleared, Noah whispered apologies as he fiddled with a tricorder. 

“What…” Jim resisted the nausea that threatened to overtake him. 

He _knew_ this feeling. He had felt it before…his telepathic bonds with Amanda and Selik breaking. This had happened before, last time that his children had time traveled. 

“Spock?” Jim whispered, unable to check on his bondmate without succumbing to his nausea. 

“Dad’s taking care of him. I think he’s fine.” Noah’s hand was on Jim’s back. “I’m so sorry. What hurts right now? Did the suppressor I gave you help the pain? What else can I do?”

“Nausea?” Jim said immediately. 

“Right.” Noah shuffled through his bag and pulled out another hypo.

When that one took effect, Jim could finally settle back on his heels and look somewhere other than the ground. 

Spock was leaning forward in his chair, his hands white against his forehead, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“ _T’hy’la_?” Jim asked, his voice soft, speaking in Vulcan without even thinking about it. 

Jim could hear Spock’s intake of breath. 

Bones was glaring murderously at his son. “Noah, what the hell is going on? You knew that someone with a degenerative neurological disease was about to undergo trauma? And you let it happen?”

“That’s why I called you,” Noah said firmly.

“He could have had a seizure.”

“I know.” Noah looked down. “They knew. I brought hypos.”

“You brought hypos?! That’s your defense?!” 

Jim ignored the McCoy showdown in favor of crawling over to Spock’s chair, not even worried about looking undignified. He collapsed against the fabric covering Spock’s leg, his forehead soaking in the heat of his Vulcan. 

Spock’s hand fell onto the back of Jim’s neck, and the resulting reinforcement of their bond was a small relief from the chaos. Jim closed his eyes. 

“Spock,” Bones’ voice was soft. “Is there anything I can do?”

 _Anger, frustration, sorrow, anger._ Spock’s emotions flowed through their bond, and Jim’s breath caught.

“Where are they?” Spock asked, his voice rough.

Jim opened his eyes again, watching Noah, who looked wrecked. 

“Vulcan,” Noah whispered. 

“Probability of success?” Spock’s voice was almost normal sounding now, which actually scared Jim more than anything. He sounded…clinical.

“They felt pretty confident that—”

“ _Numbers_. I know my children, and I know they had numbers.” Dangerous. Now Spock’s voice sounded dangerous.

“92.432% chance of successful time travel.” Noah, to his credit, met Spock’s gaze. His voice shook. “71.654% chance of correct location. 59.881% chance of successful return.”

Bones swore. 

“Oh my god,” Jim whispered, closing his eyes again. 

“I’m so sorry,” Noah choked out. “I’ll never forgive myself if she…if they don’t come back. You have to believe me, I…”

“Why?” Spock asked, standing now. Jim scrambled from his place on the floor to stand too. 

Noah’s mouth snapped shut, his apology dying on his lips. “What?”

“Why did they go?”

Noah blinked. “To help you. To get information.”

Spock stilled, his breaths uneven. 

“You should have told us,” Jim said. 

“I know,” Noah looked at his feet. “But when Spock went on the telepathic dampeners last week…I don’t know, Amanda lost it. She couldn’t deal. That’s why Selik rushed back from New Vulcan earlier this week.”

“They could be dead,” Spock said coldly, glaring at Noah openly now. “And even if they live, they might be lost to us forever.”

“I know,” the younger McCoy said miserably. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “But I’d do anything for her, to help her, and I couldn’t stand watching her watch you die. I know that I might lose her forever. But…she would never forgive me if I stopped her from going and then you died. So I helped them, and I’ll live with the consequences.”

Jim’s heart felt heavy in his chest. As much as he wanted to be angry with Noah, he couldn’t. Getting mad at Noah wouldn’t bring his children back.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Noah said, looking from Jim and Spock to his father. 

Jim took a deep breath and moved away from Spock toward Bones’ son. He reminded Jim so much of Bones in that moment: defiant, worried, and loyal to a fault. He put his hands on Noah’s shoulders. 

“Thank you for taking care of my kids.” It hurt to say, but he kept speaking. “I know my kids. Telling us wouldn’t have stopped them, just slowed them down. Don’t blame yourself.”

Noah nodded. “Thank you, Admiral. I _am_ sorry.”

Jim smiled painfully. “I know you are.”

He turned back to Spock. The Vulcan was pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, his lips pressed thin. Jim winced and went to stand in front of him, face to face. 

“Hey,” Jim cradled Spock’s face in his hands, not caring about the McCoys right now. “It’ll be okay. They’re okay.”

 _It does not feel that way._

Spock’s mind was confused almost all of the time now. He experienced too many emotions and had no control to filter them. The sorrow at a broken bond was a visceral, instinctive reaction to which Spock was completely defenseless. 

This was too much for Spock right now, far too much. 

“Could you guys go?” Jim asked, tilting his head to look over at Bones. 

Bones frowned. “I’m guessing you won’t agree to hospitalization.”

Perhaps a year ago, the suggestion would have made Jim balk and crack a joke about Kirks not needing hospitals. But now… 

“Too many minds. A hospital would only make things worse.” Jim rubbed his thumbs over Spock’s psi-points. There was still a spark, but the telepathic dampeners made everything muted, weak.

“You’re probably right,” Bones agreed, not even complaining about the PDA. 

Jim looked over at his friend. “Don’t be surprised if I call you tonight. I’ll keep an eye on him.” 

“Of course,” Bones nodded. He motioned to his son, who was obviously miserable. He was watching Spock’s broken figure. “Come on Noah, let’s go.”

Jim sighed and turned back to his bondmate. “Don’t be too hard on him, Bones,” he said, just loud enough for Bones to hear. “There comes a point when we cannot control the actions of our children anymore.”

“Remember the same,” his friend responded. “And those kids of yours are smart. Don’t give up hope on ‘em.”

Bones and Noah left then, and the apartment was quiet. Everything was too quiet: silence in the apartment and silence in his mind.

“Spock…”

Jim wanted to ask if he was okay, if Jim could do anything. But he knew the answer to that. Of course, nothing could be done. 

“I cannot help this time,” Spock said, his voice raw. 

Last time their children disappeared, Spock had worked relentlessly to get them back. He hardly ate, worked hundreds of hours in his lab, and slept in snatches of time brief enough that Jim hardly ever saw him in their quarters.

“They’re older now. They can figure it out by themselves.”

“Noah should be able to provide us with specifics. Perhaps I can—”

“No, Spock. You can’t. Not this time. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Spock leaned his forehead forward so that his touched Jim’s.

“They’ll make it back,” Jim said, believing it in his gut, the same way he believed in the Enterprise and her crew. 

Spock’s lip quirked slightly. “They are Kirks.” 

Jim’s laugh was hollow. “Yeah, they are.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda Grayson meets two very interesting characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trash. Sorry for taking a while to update. I fell into a hole of Hobbit fanfic for a while. 
> 
> Anyway, RIP Leonard Nimoy. LLAP

Amanda Grayson finished her lecture with a short bow, a Vulcan tradition signaling the end of a speech. Many of the attendees nodded, either in approval or acknowledgement. There was a largely silent shuffle as the Vulcans began to leave the lecture hall. 

Amanda couldn’t help but glance surreptitiously at a Vulcan girl who had been sitting in the front row for the whole lecture. Her hair was shorter than typical, and she was younger than most in attendance. But still, there was nothing overtly abnormal about her. And yet…

“Lady Amanda Grayson?” 

She blinked, looking away from the girl and towards two tall Vulcan men. They were dressed as Academy Security. 

“Hello,” she said, an unnecessary Human greeting. 

Of course, the Vulcans had no time for such small talk.

“A student who claims to be yours has been caught accessing the Academy Archives without appropriate permissions,” the older of the two Vulcans said. 

Amanda furrowed her brow. She had two graduate students right now, both on Earth, one at Oxford and one in Starfleet. 

“Did they give you a name?”

“He says his name is James Kirk. We searched that name in Federation records: a male Human from Earth, 15 Standard years of age. No records came up in regards to you or researching off-planet.” While of course the Vulcan appeared impassive, Amanda detected a bit of annoyance.

She considered. James Kirk wasn’t a name she knew immediately, and really, for an Earth name, it wasn’t particularly unique. 

“May I speak to him?” She asked, curious about this child that invoked her name while hacking Vulcan databases. 

“Is he your student?” The older Vulcan questioned, his eyes narrowing. 

Amanda hesitated, her gaze flickering past the two guards to the now mostly empty lecture hall. The Vulcan girl was still there, trying to surreptitiously watch them but failing to be subtle. Their eyes met, and this girl that Amanda had never seen before nodded slightly. 

The Vulcan girl wanted her to claim this Human child in custody? Or was her nod just a coincidence?

“He’s too young to be part of an off-planet exchange,” Amanda found herself saying, watching as the Vulcan girl’s shoulders relaxed. So she was listening, and she approved. “So he’s visiting as a friend. I apologize for the misunderstanding. May I speak with him now?”

“You understand that our archives are not open to outworlders without explicit permission, Lady Amanda?” The Vulcan man seemed more condescending than annoyed, which Amanda was far too used to handling.

“Of course,” Amanda said, using her most firm and dignified voice. “Human children often behave without restraint.” It was always best to appeal to Vulcan superiority when lying. “I apologize.” 

The older Vulcan nodded severely. The younger one stepped back slightly. “If you would follow us, we can take you to Mr. Kirk.” 

“Could I have one moment to speak to a student?” Amanda said, putting her bag over her shoulder to rest at her side. 

As all good Vulcans, neither of the security guards expressed displeasure, although Amanda imagined she could sense it. “As you wish, Lady Amanda.” 

The Vulcan girl was shifting on her feet. Vulcans did not shift. Amanda smiled at her, a soft smile that went often disused on Vulcan. 

“Hello,” Amanda said, knowing that the Vulcans behind her could hear her words. “You must be a new student. How did you enjoy the lecture?” 

The Vulcan girl tried so hard to straighten, to press her face into the emotionless mask, but she was honestly _bad_ at it, at least to Amanda. Amanda had spent much of her life studying languages, including nonverbal cues, and there was not a person on this planet better at reading subtle body language than the lone permanent Human resident of Vulcan. 

“Thank you,” the girl said, her lip twitching into a smile. “The lecture was…great.”

“Would you like to meet later to discuss it?” Amanda weighted the words, telling this girl that the invitation was not optional. 

“Yes, Lady Amanda.” 

“Give me your comm. I will give you my information.” 

The girl hesitated slightly, her fingers shaking. But she eventually handed over a communicator, a model that Amanda did not recognize. 

“I look forward to our discussion. What is your name?”

The Vulcan girl grinned slightly, not even hiding it. “T’Karik.” 

“Alright,” Amanda nodded, utterly confused, slightly concerned about what she might be getting into. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

T’Karik met her eyes one more time. Despite being Vulcan, Amanda could sense _kindness_ from this girl in front of her. From the Vulcan species, first impressions of any kind were rare. “Thank you so much.” 

Amanda furrowed her brow but nodded. “We’ll talk later.”

The Vulcan guards led her through the Academy towards the library. Most of the staff knew her on sight, so they weren’t entirely interested in her passing through. When they reached an office area, the guards told Amanda to wait in the hallway. She couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on. Why was a Human child on Vulcan to begin with? Most child visitors were temporary, and they stuck to the tourist sections of the city. This person she was about to meet obviously was not supposed to be here. 

When the Vulcans returned, Amanda blinked in surprise. 

The Human with them was tall, almost as tall as the Vulcans who guided him. While not large by any means, the boy had broad shoulders and a bit of blonde stubble on his chin. Amanda was hard-pressed to believe he was 15 years old. 

“James Kirk, Lady,” the younger Vulcan said. 

The boy, almost a man really, held himself stiffly. His hair was blonde, shaggy, and it contrasted with his otherwise sharp demeanor.

“Lady Amanda,” he greeted, a Midwestern American accent leaking through. 

“James,” she played along with the charade. “Why would you run off like that? You know you aren’t supposed to be at the Academy without permission.” 

The boy, who was probably not 15-year-old James Kirk of Earth, did not react to her lie at all. His icy blue eyes watched her calmly.

“I apologize,” he said softly. 

“Well come on, your mother is expecting to hear from us.” Amanda smiled at the Vulcans, who looked bored now. “Thank you. I am sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“Do not let it happen again.”

Amanda didn’t speak to the boy until they got outside. He was surprisingly silent and docile, following her without any complaint. When they were finally outside, she turned to the boy. 

The day was mild for Vulcan, but for Humans, it was stifling. Amanda had already had a tri-ox compound that day so she was comfortable enough. Not-James had beads of sweat on his lip already forming, but he seemed indifferent to the heat otherwise. 

“So you’re not James Kirk,” Amanda said, looking away from him and to the sand of the street before her. Vulcans tended not to linger anywhere for long. So the main entrance stairwell leading to the Academy was devoid of many students, faculty, or visitors that might hear them, all going about their tasks efficiently. 

The boy was silent for a while, his breaths calm. He was also watching the road before him, his expression unreadable. “Do you know James Kirk?” he asked, his accent shifting, vowels shortening, from Midwestern to a very neutral Standard. 

“No.” She shook her head. “But they said James Kirk was fifteen. Vulcans might not know Human ages well, but I do. You’re, what, eighteen at least?”

“Twenty,” he corrected, still expressionless. 

Amanda nodded. “Why did you use a fake name?”

“I knew they would search for me in the Federation directory.” The boy shifted slightly. “I look like James Kirk.”

“And your real name?” Amanda asked, frowning. 

He stiffened, betraying his discomfort. “Perhaps you should call me James.” 

Amanda sighed, and while her voice was still gentle, she made sure it was firm. “Listen, I’m trying to help you. You pulled me into this. If you expect me to keep helping you and not turn you in for information theft to the Academy, you should start talking.” 

He stiffened even more, his arms going behind his back subconsciously. 

“Of course, you are correct.” He took a deep breath. “I contacted you because I believed you might be sympathetic to my cause.” The boy, with obvious reluctance, glanced around them, checking for anyone paying attention.

“My name is Selik,” he continued, his voice low. He lifted the blonde locks from the side of his head slightly, revealing his ears. 

Amanda’s eyes widened and her heart quickened. “You’re—”

“A hybrid,” he finished, with a sharp nod. “Much like your son.” 

Suddenly the boy’s stiff posture made sense, his practiced control. But his blue eyes were too Human. She didn’t know what to say. 

“I was not born on Vulcan,” he said, seemingly reading her thoughts. “You should not have heard of me.” 

Amanda just kept staring. It took her years to have Spock, years of pain and doctors and being alone. Yet here was another part-Vulcan, healthy and functional. How could he not be from Vulcan? How could she not _know_ him?

“How?”

“I need medical information from the VSA. I do not have access to it at home,” Selik said, which was not an answer to her question.

“Does Vulcan High Command know about you? Where are you from?”

“The current High Command does not know who I am. I was born…far from here.” Selik avoided her eyes, glancing instead to the building behind her. 

She looked more closely at him; his blonde hair was sticking to his forehead now, wet with sweat. The skin on his cheeks was darkening with the sun. 

“Will you come to my house? I have questions, and you need a tri-ox.” 

“I…I am incredibly grateful that you have helped me,” he said, uncomfortable. “But I cannot give you much more information.”

“Why?” 

Selik’s eyes darkened, and he met her gaze. “It is dangerous, Lady Amanda. I should not have used your name, but I could not get arrested.”

“Dangerous?”

“I came to this planet at great personal risk,” he said softly. 

Amanda frowned. “Where are you staying?” 

He shrugged. “I have friends in the city.”

“The Vulcan girl? T’Karik?” 

Selik’s expression opened in surprise momentarily. “Yes. You met her?” 

“I believe she may have been ensuring that I retrieved you.” 

Selik nodded. “She has helped me remain undetected by High Command.”

“Then perhaps using the wife of Vulcan’s ambassador to Earth was not the most intelligent decision,” Amanda pointed out, raising her eyebrows. 

The boy’s eye twitched almost imperceptibly, and she was reminded of Spock so strongly that she had to suppress a smile. 

“My son will be home from school in a few hours. You should comm your friend T’Karik. Let’s have lunch while you both explain why I’m harboring a criminal.”

Selik watched her for a moment, not moving at all, before he slowly pulled out his communicator. “You remind me of my Dad,” he said softly. 

The statement was too emotional for the boy before her, and she found herself picturing Selik’s father. Surely he was blonde, maybe he shared those striking blue eyes. His father must be the human one. 

“Am—T’Karik will meet us here. She is not far,” Selik said shortly, slipping his communicator into his pocket. 

“Is your father your human parent?” She asked, unable to contain her curiosity. 

Selik blinked. “Yes, he is,” he answered slowly. 

“So your mother is Vulcan?” 

“I have two fathers,” the boy answered abruptly, his eyes shifting away in discomfort.

“Oh, I…I’m sorry that’s terribly presumptuous of me, isn’t it?” Amanda was still ridiculously curious. Now she was having a hard time imagining not only another Vulcan-Human pairing, but two males in a Vulcan-Human relationship. 

“My familial situation is unconventional. No offense is taken where none was meant.”

“How could I not know about you?” Amanda wanted to explain how many doctors she had to visit, how much the odds were stacked against her, how she still got odd looks because of her Vulcan husband. But she was not sure how to broach any of that. It was too much.

“You are intelligent,” Selik said. “I do not wish to insult that intelligence by lying to you.”

“Then don’t lie.” Amanda turned the full force of her professorial gaze on the boy, but he seemed indifferent to such tactics. He only watched the street in front of him, his face oddly gentle. 

They were in that silent standoff as T’Karik arrived, a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Her brown eyes were keen, taking in Selik and Amanda with bright eyes.

“Hello,” the Vulcan girl said, a gentle grin on her face. 

“Nice to see you again,” Amanda said wryly. “Will you be more forthcoming with information than Selik?”

“Ah,” T’Karik laughed. “I’m surprised he told you his name.”

“He believes I have a soft spot for hybrids,” Amanda said. 

“They _can_ be endearing,” T’Karik smiled fondly at Selik.

“Quite,” Amanda agreed.

As she watched the stoic, blonde hybrid boy and the obviously gregarious Vulcan girl, Amanda grew ever more curious. Nothing about these children was as it should be.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't figure out how much I wanted Amanda Grayson to know right away. But I've finally figured out how I want to deal with the relationships moving forward. Holy moly, writing a story with two ladies named Amanda is the HARDEST. goodness.

_T’Karik_ , Amanda repeated the name in her mind, forcing herself to think in terms of her Vulcan name. She could not be Amanda here, not with her namesake walking next to her, very much alive and very much suspicious of she and Selik. 

The human woman was beautiful, as Amanda knew she would be. She had seen holos and photographs of the Lady Amanda, but none of them really did her justice. A picture did not show the gentling in her smile when she was being kind. The holos somehow blurred the lines that were beginning to form in her eyes, lines that echoed the laughter that had created them. 

Amanda T’Karik knew that she and her brother were in quite a predicament, but she could not bring herself to care in this moment. Here was her grandmother, the strong woman who had braved the spite of two cultures to create something new. Amanda was in awe. Hearing her long lost grandmother give a lecture was a pleasure that she had never thought to experience. When she saw the announcement for the talk from Lady Amanda Grayson, she could not resist the temptation. Selik said it was risky, and she got a twisted amount of pleasure from the fact that Selik was the one who had gotten caught while Amanda was being ‘risky.’

The Lady Amanda led them onto a mass-transit train, one of the ultra-fast types that were popular in the Federation before transporter tech became cheap enough for mass use. Their grandmother said little to them while they traveled, seemingly lost in thought. Selik was similarly silent, looking down at his shoes as the train barreled out of central Shi’Kahr and into the more sparse red desert around it. 

On one hand, Amanda felt a thrill of nerves at leaving the city. She had grown comfortable there, familiar with its spires and logical street arrangements. But the sense of danger was dulled by the simple fact that Amanda Grayson was trusted. Amanda Kirk’s greatest fear was of changing the future, a future of which she did not feel particularly defensive. Would it be so bad if Amanda Grayson were somehow spared?

“Have you ever been to the Forge?” Lady Amanda broke the silence abruptly, drawing the siblings from their thoughts.

Her question was asked neutrally, at neither of the twins specifically, although her gaze fell longer on Selik. 

“No,” he answered first. “I have only ever been to Shi’Kahr.”

“Did you have a _kahs-wan_?” 

“My fathers did not deem it safe enough for me,” Selik answered, stiffening slightly. “Although I wished to.”

Amanda was surprised that her brother even revealed that much about their parents. He was usually so reticent, although it seemed Amanda Grayson had a skill for persuasion. 

Their grandmother’s gaze lingered on Selik a bit longer before turning to Amanda. Obviously the older woman would find Selik more interesting—as far as she knew he was the only hybrid aside from her own son. 

Amanda answered her question anyway, if only to take the attention away from her brother, who was obviously uncomfortable. 

“I’ve never been this far west either,” she said. “I also never went through the _kahs-wan_ , although I suppose girls have never really been expected to do so.”

Lady Amanda’s gaze grew more curious. “Tell me, T’Karik, were you raised in accordance with Surak’s teachings?”

Selik’s eyes widened. Amanda chuckled, giving the older woman a rueful grin, despite having promised herself she would act more Vulcan. “One of my parents was quite adherent. The other allowed me more freedoms. I am sorry to say that I was never very good at meditating.” 

The older woman appeared somewhat confused at the explanation. “And how do you know Selik’s family?”

“We grew up together, Selik and I. Our parents were quite close,” Amanda smiled innocently. She was telling the truth, after all. 

“Off planet, then?” their grandmother asked. “Although I admit my social circles are somewhat limited, I do feel I would know of a hybrid if there were official documentation.”

“Yes,” Selik answered. “I was not raised on Vulcan.”

“We moved a lot, but we probably spent most of our time planet-side on Terra,” Amanda continued. 

“So your travel here is not documented,” their grandmother concluded.

“No,” Selik spoke again. “Which is why I lied about my name.”

“So why are you here? What were you doing in the academy?”

“My father is ill,” Selik said softly, his gaze as gentle as it ever got as he met his grandmother’s eyes. “We do not have access to the archives from our home. I need the medical information contained at the Vulcan Science Academy. I know what I am doing is not legal, but my father’s life is of more importance to me than laws.”

“Life is to be valued above all else,” their grandmother agreed. “But I do not understand why you cannot go through legal channels. Indeed, I do not understand your existence at all.” 

Selik looked to his sister, obviously uncomfortable. She sighed and bit her lip. 

“You understand that interspecies couples are still a source of controversy, my Lady,” Amanda gave her grandmother a stiff smile. She hated lying to this woman, but Selik could not do it. Amanda would have to, for his safety, for the safety of their future. “Not all hybrids can afford to be visible.”

“How could you keep it a secret?” Lady Amanda’s eyes narrowed on Selik. “You had to have been created in a lab, if you have two fathers.” 

Selik winced, knowing he needed to speak. Amanda could hardly explain his whole fake life story without it being suspicious. “My father is a scientist.” Selik’s voice was stiff and clipped, obviously forced into calmness. “There are planets with low security research facilities.” All truths, albeit misleading ones.

“Must be quite a scientist,” their grandmother said, doubtfully.

“He is,” Selik agreed. “And he is very ill.”

Lady Amanda watched him for a moment, digesting his words, reading the body language. Both of the siblings held their breaths, waiting to see what this brilliant woman made of their tale. 

“Your parents did not know you came, did they?” she said finally. That was not what either of them expected her to say. But of course, she would consider the whole story from the viewpoint of the parents. 

“No,” Selik admitted. “Although I expect they realize it now. But coming here would be impossibly risky for them, especially with my father’s poor health.”

“Can your clan not help? Are you that separated from Vulcan?” 

Selik looked down. “This is my first trip to the planet.” 

Amanda was honestly impressed with her brother’s ability to tell such misleading truths. The Lady Amanda appeared placated enough, anyway. Her gaze was calculating now, no longer appearing suspicious. 

“You’ll stay with me,” she said suddenly, nodding to herself, as if affirming the decision. “I have researchers visit me quite often.” 

“What?” Selik’s head jerked up, his eyes widening. 

“You may not have access to your clan, but I can take you in as…James Kirk, you said?” 

“Stay with you?” Selik repeated, disbelieving. 

“Yes,” Lady Amanda smiled. “I can even get you access to the Academy. Although, I do admit we may have to figure out a way to make medical research look related to linguistics. My husband tends to be very thorough in his questions.”

“Your husband,” Selik repeated again. 

“Yes, Ambassador Sarek,” their grandmother confirmed. 

Selik was quite close to Sarek in the future. They both resided primarily on New Vulcan, and Selik was following a path that Sarek had always envisioned for Spock. They had similar interests, and similar countenances as well. However, neither of the siblings was ignorant of their grandfather’s past: that he and Spock had been estranged for years because of Spock’s humanity. And Selik…

“You have had Human researchers here?” Selik asked, frowning. 

“For short periods of time, yes,” Lady Amanda answered. “How long do you need?” 

“Would a month be an imposition?” Selik said slowly, glancing at the younger Amanda briefly. 

“Perfectly reasonable.” Lady Amanda nodded. “My husband and son will not find that odd at all. You’ll have to hide your ears of course, if you are to be James Kirk.”

“Your family doesn’t want another hybrid?” Amanda asked with a smile.

Lady Amanda returned the smile ruefully. “I’m not sure Sarek is ready for that.” She watched the younger woman for a moment. “You can both stay. Do you have family on planet?”

“Distant family,” Amanda agreed. “And I would not impose our schemes on you any further.”

“Your presence would be slightly harder, but not impossible, to explain. You’re only a few years older than my son, I’m guessing, so he would probably have seen you if you went to school near here.” Their grandmother’s face was kind as she spoke. “But if you need a place to stay, we can figure it out. Where have you been staying?”

They had been sleeping in shifts at libraries, keeping guard for one another. When they could hack their way into Federation databases, they stole a bit of money to sleep in cheap lodgings about the city. But neither Selik nor Amanda desired to perform such illegal acts; they were too much like Spock to ever exploit the system beyond necessity. 

“We’ve stayed where we can,” Amanda T’Karik said ungracefully, immediately wishing she had thought of a lie. 

Lady Amanda read the truth in the hasty response. “Then you’ll stay, of course.”

“I don’t…”

“You are a friend to Vulcans and Humans, and so you are a friend to me,” Lady Amanda insisted.

“I do not want to cause you trouble, when you are already doing so much for Selik.” 

Their grandmother smiled. “I admit am not entirely selfless. I am curious about his experiences. My son has ever been the only one.”

Selik’s gaze fell to the ground at that admission, guilty. 

“And Selik is obviously more comfortable when you are with him,” their grandmother continued, smirking almost imperceptibly. 

Selik flushed lightly; he always hated when people could read his expressions. 

“Selik is my dearest friend,” Amanda said honestly. “He is like a brother to me.”

“I admit you are also a curiosity. Even my son avoids the word ‘friend.’ I have met few Vulcans like you,” Lady Amanda admitted, her eyebrow raised. 

“Being raised off-planet has made us quite…unique.” 

Their grandmother seemed to accept their story, at least enough to stand by her offer of hospitality. Perhaps staying with their family was a risky option: if any of Sarek’s family decided to probe more fully into their story, its falsehood would be only too obvious. Luckily, she and Selik had been here for two weeks by now, and already had a decent amount of leads. She had uploaded hundreds of papers to a secure off-world server and timed them to deliver to Doctor Leonard McCoy some thirty years from now. That way, even if she and Selik never made it home, the information would. 

In fact, she and Selik had already discussed some of their problems with getting home. They had found that the most restrictive part of their algorithm was that they could only travel in time if using a transporter that existed both in the past and future. The only reason they’d even been able to travel back to Vulcan was because they found an old Vulcan transporter that had been reallocated to Starfleet before the destruction of the planet. 

There was a very real possibility that she and Selik would have to travel back to Terra before going home. Otherwise, they would risk transporting to the black hole that now resided where Vulcan once was. Most of the transporters on Vulcan were destroyed with the planet. The one they had used to arrive to Vulcan was under tight security; they had barely convinced the transporter operators that they weren’t criminals when they arrived without appropriate authorizations. The likelihood of being able to get to that same transporter and rig up a time-travel algorithm without getting caught was laughably low. Secrecy was too important here. 

As their train slowed to a halt, Amanda Kirk peered out of the window onto blood-orange dunes that rose into craggy mountains in the distance. The sky was pale, pale blue over the land, tinged with red at the horizon. Perhaps it was for the best that Vulcan was beautiful. There were certainly worse fates than being stuck on a lost home world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amanda WILL find out eventually (so will Sarek, and possibly Spock--poor lil kid), but it's going to be dramatic and possibly a little bit painful. 
> 
> Spock's POV is next! What's up with mom's visitors? Honestly, applying to Starfleet secretly behind dad's back is bad enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have legitimately been meaning to put up this story for a really long time. I even know where it's going, so it isn't abandoned. I've thought through a ton of story lines, and I think about these characters a lot. Sorry it's been so long. I'm getting back into the writing game now. I recently started anti-anxiety meds and pretty much everything is better now, so I'm hoping to go back to regularly updating this story. 
> 
> Plus, Star Trek Beyond is coming up! Which, even if it totally sucks, I'll love watching my babies do things.
> 
> /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The online Starfleet application was a jumble of bright blues and reds and yellows, colors that reminded Spock of the children’s toys from Terra his mother had insisted he own. Stars periodically shot across the banner, an addition that needlessly filled an already abrasively colorful page. 

As if he needed a reminder that he was applying to a patently Human organization, despite their supposed dedication to diversity. 

The yellow blocked lettering of “Pending Application” was bright on the navy background. His name was featured slightly smaller just below it. ‘S’chn T’gai Spock’ it read, lettered with a Terran alphabet, the name looking odd and jumbled when not in Vulcan. 

The next question on the screen was written in a dull white print, simple letters with a simple box to click as the answer, and yet to Spock it seemed more glaring than even the shooting stars in the banner.

_Please indicate your Federation species (according to the United Federation of Planets bylaw 159.32.21.2, species may not be used as a basis for admission to any Federation-sanctioned institution of learning). If you are not a member of the Federation, please see the section for ‘Out-of-Federation Applicants.’_

The top two options were _Human_ and _Vulcan_. Currently Spock had Vulcan selected, but his eyes strayed to Human as he thought of his mother. 

A message from her appeared in the corner of his screen just as he clicked to the next portion of the application. He quickly closed out of his Starfleet application, an uncomfortable flush of emotions warming his limbs as he opened his messaging program. Illogical. Mother could not tell what he had been doing.

_Spock, New researchers will be staying with us for a month. They will both be present at dinner. See you after school. Love, Mother_

Spock sighed. His mother had throttled the emotions in her messages since he had become a teenager, but some of the Human emotionalism and redundancy still managed to bleed through. He did appreciate her attempts, however.

_Acknowledged. Spock._ He sent his simple reply. 

He had nine minutes and thirty seconds until he absolutely needed to leave in order to arrive home within the time frame that his mother expected him. Now that there would be guests for dinner, he found himself considering arriving late. But the impulse was illogical. 

He calculated the odds that his mother’s visiting researchers were Human at around sixty-eight point three percent, factoring in her previous research assistants, current planetary location, and most recent research topic. Spock had a limited amount of experience interacting with Humans. Most were foreign dignitaries, scientists, or linguists, and therefore were not a broad sampling of Humanity by any means, but he found interactions with them tolerable, although not particularly enjoyable. His classmates would understand; most of them had an unfavorable view of Humans, according to his mother. 

Spock put his mother’s visitors out of his mind as he made his way home. He considered the research plan he was currently writing for his potential tenure at the Vulcan Science Academy. His professor advised that he rework one of his main research aims. 

The ride on public transportation to his home was calming. The silence of Vulcan railcars was peaceful despite the number of people, and he was able to pull out his PADD to continue writing his VSA application. 

By the time he reached home, his mind was whirling with the physics of binary stars, and he had nearly forgotten about his mother’s visitors. His fingers pressed into the cold of the translucent screen next to the front door, reading his identity and confirming his biosigns before the door slid open for him. 

As soon as he entered, the sound of laughter reached him, and he froze. The laughter was female, not his mother, and after a day of Vulcan silence, a shock. 

One of the visitors was a female Human, then. 

He rounded the corner into the main room of his family’s home, where there were two couches and multiple chairs, and expected to see his mother laughing with a woman her own age. 

Instead, he found his mother talking to a young Vulcan girl—probably a few years older than he—who was smiling brightly, her cheeks dimpling at the effort. Spock blinked. 

“Mother,” he said solemnly, trying to impose some normality on this situation. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning her smile to him. “Dear, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Perhaps you could not hear over the volume of the present conversation,” he suggested, his gaze falling to the Vulcan girl.

Her smile was gone now, but her face was not without expression. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her lips pressed tight, features Spock had perhaps seen on his mother but never on another Vulcan. 

“Probably so,” his mother agreed. “Spock, these are my new students. This is T’Karik, travelling from a small university south of here. And this,” his mother motioned to a male that Spock had not even noticed, who was sitting in a chair apart from where the women had been sitting, “is James Kirk.”

The male Human stood immediately, a courtesy that the Vulcan girl hastened to copy. His fingers spread in a perfect _ta’al_ , and in careful Vulcan he said, “Live long and prosper.”

Spock returned the gesture. “I am Spock.” 

The male was not anything particularly unique for a Human. His hair was a sandy yellow that rarely occurred in the Vulcan genome. Striking, even from this distance, were the icy blue eyes, utterly unseen on Vulcans—whose eyes ranged from reddish ambers to dark browns. However Spock was mostly dismissive of the odd coloring, as he was more distracted by how still the Human was, so unlike any of the other Humans that he had met. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” T’Karik said. 

A Human greeting. Spock was uncertain how to respond.

“She was not raised to Surak’s precepts,” his mother explained.

“I see.” 

Such Vulcans were not unheard of—indeed, Spock’s own brother had rejected the teachings and disappeared many years ago. But they were hardly ever voluntarily found in Shi-Kahr, a city whose people were ninety-nine point eight seven percent adherent. 

“What university do you attend?”

“A’kash,” she said simply. 

A smaller institution of learning that specialized in linguistics, which was perhaps a six-hour journey south of Shi-Kahr using public transport. His mother travelled there occasionally. Logical. 

“And James?” Spock turned his gaze back to the silent Human. 

The strands of blonde fell over blue eyes as his gaze shifted to the floor, his hands tight behind his back. 

“He’s a student at Starfleet Medical. We have been collaborating remotely,” T’Karik answered, her gaze flickering from James and then back to Spock quickly. 

Spock tilted his head. “What project has a medical student collaborating with linguists?” 

“Let’s finish this discussion at dinner, Spock,” his mother interrupted. 

As they walked into the dining room, T’Karik walked up next to him. She seemed somehow less perturbed than previously.

“We’re studying certain linguistic flags from pre-Reformation medical files to present day. How societies view illnesses can be extremely enlightening about the cultural psyche,” T’Karik explained. Her eyes seemed somehow brighter as she spoke, and she used her hands while she talked, making small nonsensical motions with her fingers. “For example, telepathic injury is much more…reverently and carefully treated now than in the pre-Reformation era. Oddly they viewed telepathic problems as a weakness in the individual rather than an actual physical problem. Much like Humans used to view mental illness on Terra.”

Spock heard all that she said, of course, but he found that his focus was on the pure…animation in her whole body. She was loud and outright with her emotions, so unlike his mother. 

But her ears curved to a perfect Vulcan point, and her hair was even cut short like his. However, Spock, for the first time, considered himself the more ideal Vulcan of a situation. He wished his father were not away on business so he could witness this. 

“Is _Sa’mekh_ still returning tomorrow?” Spock directed the question to his mother.

James’ eyes snapped to Spock, the odd blue somehow appearing sharper. 

“Mmm, yes. Late in the evening,” his mother responded. She glanced to their visitors: James seemed incredibly interested while T’Karik was staring pointedly at the ground. “He has already told me he is perfectly okay with researchers staying with us.”

Perhaps James was nervous, being on a foreign planet, meeting a Vulcan ambassador. He certainly appeared uncomfortable, although Spock could not be certain. 

“Father,” Spock used the Human translation in an attempt to be helpful, “is quite receptive to Mother’s researchers.”

He supposed he should practice his interpersonal relations with Humans if he were seriously considering attending Starfleet. Even better, this particular Human was attending Starfleet. Perhaps his mother’s researchers would not be a complete burden on his time. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Ambassador Sarek required rest. His return trip to Vulcan had been prolonged; the Federation waylaid his transport to make room for yet more Terran scientists coming to this sector. Terra was entering what many historians were claiming to be a whole new era of colonization, expanding into the galaxy at a frankly alarming rate. For Sarek, that meant more planets that he would probably eventually have to mark in his galactic database and even possibly make a personal visit, especially for those planets particularly close to Vulcan. 

His wife had sent him a missive the day previous, telling him of the researchers she had visiting. Young students, she said, who were performing some sort of cross-cultural medical research. Her details had been more sparse than usual, but Sarek was not overly concerned. He trusted her. 

When he entered their home, he was met with the usual silence. He presumed their guests would be in the visitor’s wing, and aside from possibly dinner (Amanda had a propensity to go beyond the hospitality required of nearly any species with regards to dinner) he would rarely see the researchers. So he found it interesting when he saw a figure standing on the balcony off of the main sitting area. 

Whoever they were, they were very tall, close to his own height, with short black hair. Sarek strode forward calmly, and pressed the glass door open. The hiss of the balcony door caused the visitor—a young Vulcan girl—to jump and spin. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped slightly before she came back to herself. 

“Um,” she said. 

Sarek frowned.

“ _My name is T’Karik_ ,” she tried again, appearing flustered. The Vulcan words poured out in a rush. “ _You must be Ambassador Sarek._ ”

T’Karik was an old name, often used in the high Vulcan houses. However, given this female’s obviously poor grasp of Surak’s precepts, she was unlikely to be from any important family. In fact, such blatant emotionalism probably meant she was from outside of Shi-Kahr. But her Vulcan was neutral, showing no obvious regional variation in pronunciation.

“ _Yes_ ,” he confirmed. “ _I have been informed that you are staying with us for a month._ ”

“ _I am_ ,” she nodded. Her arms folded behind her back as she straightened her shoulders in an attempt to appear collected. “ _My colleague as well._ James Kirk. _He is from Terra._ ” 

“ _I presume that I will meet him at some point in the duration of your stay._ ”

T’Karik nodded again. “ _He is working currently._ ” 

“ _And you are on the balcony?_ ” 

“Um,” she said, using yet another speech disfluency. Perhaps such patterns were acceptable in well-educated Humans, but Sarek already found himself doubting her intelligence as a Vulcan. Any educated Vulcan would never say any such thing as ‘um.’

“ _I wanted fresh air. We have been working all day,_ ” she said. “ _The sunset is my favorite time of day._ ”

Such a statement sounded like something Amanda would say. Sarek quirked an eyebrow. “ _Why should any time of day be preferable over another?_ ”

T’Karik flushed, green blood warming high on her cheekbones, but her voice held the edge of a challenge. “ _Is it not the prerogative for living beings to find beauty in their lives? The sunset is beautiful._ ”

Sarek spared a glance for the horizon, colors of red and blue mixing as varying wavelengths were scattered over the visible edge of the planet. “ _Beauty is subjective,_ ” he said.

“ _Subjectivity is beautiful,_ ” she countered, dark eyes glinting. 

For the first time in many years, Sarek was reminded of his eldest son. He recalled the defiant glares, the subtle jibes against Sarek’s ‘sensitivity.’ Of course, such things were in the past, and T’Karik was not his son. All the same, Sarek could not help but desire to keep this girl away from Spock. 

Spock’s Human blood put him at a disadvantage in the processing of emotion, and he did not need the poor influence of a peer, if in fact this girl could even be considered Spock’s peer in intelligence. 

“ _I suppose,_ ” he said tersely, placating. “ _Will you and James be joining us for dinner this evening?_ ” 

T’Karik’s posture stiffened, and Sarek had the impression she could sense his displeasure, although he doubted she could read any nonverbal communication—he was very well-trained in controlling such things as an ambassador

“ _The Lady Amanda invited us to dinner, yes,_ ” T’Karik said softly. 

“ _Well then--_ ”

His response was cut off by the hiss of the door opening. He turned to see his wife, her hair covered in a loose maroon wrap and her fingers grasping the edge of her navy dress as she stepped onto the balcony. 

“Hello Sarek,” she said, a gentle smile gracing her features. She lifted her fingers for the traditional greeting, and Sarek brushed his against hers in return. He got the brief impression of joy and an edge of nervousness from the contact, but then their fingers had parted and her expression revealed none of the anxiety he had felt. She chose to speak in Standard, which was a curious choice as her audience was two Vulcans. 

“I see you’ve met T’Karik,” Amanda motioned to the girl who smiled genuinely at his wife. “She’s quite gifted with programming, Sarek, for a linguist. She’s already helped me with the Universal Translator.”

“Has she?” Sarek raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the girl.

“Yes,” Amanda said, smiling. “James is in our library presently. He seems to have gotten distracted with one of your old books on clan history.”

Sarek was not certain he wanted a Human reading such an important tome, although there were no clan or cultural secrets easily found in his library. “Humans are often distracted from their goals, yes?” 

“Some,” his wife agreed. “Although James is quite a singular student. I believe he genuinely finds history interesting.”

“I see,” Sarek responded. “Then he is finding his stay on Vulcan educational?”

“Quite. He had never seen the planet before.” Amanda nodded to the girl. “T’Karik has helped James adapt wonderfully, although she had not visited Shi-Kahr before.”

“That is unsurprising,” Sarek commented. “From what clan are you?”

T’Karik winced. “I don’t have a clan,” she murmured. 

Sarek nodded. True, most Vulcans could trace their lineage to one clan or another and usually took pride in that, but they were hardly a truly hierarchal society anymore, valuing intelligence and skill over blood. Some Vulcans had more dubious parentage, the result of an unbonded _Pon Farr_ or a taboo dalliance outside of a mated pair. Such bloodlines either did not claim their clans or did not know them.

While being born into a wealthy or influential clan was most certainly a privilege, being clan-less was not the anathema it once was. Many clan-less were in positions of power these days, although there were definitely still issues with political representation among the population without a clan. Representation on the Vulcan High Council was still hereditary, and positions in politics were wrought with nepotism. Such things were illogical to an unbiased party, but Sarek was not so blind as to see that even followers of Surak were susceptible to lapses in judgment when it came to family. 

“Well, such things are not so important these days,” Amanda said, smiling at the young Vulcan girl, who seemed troubled by her admission. “Right Sarek?” 

“While of course there is still some stigma,” he began honestly. There was no logic in denying a truth. “If one is intelligent and works hard, there is no reason for them not to achieve a fruitful place in society.”

“Right,” T’Karik looked up at his statement, her expression flat. “And what of admission to the Vulcan Science Academy?

Amanda frowned at the girl, who was now watching Sarek raptly. 

“The Vulcan Science Academy reviews all applications for their merit regardless of clan name,” he said. 

“Is that the experience your son has had, then?” 

The girl’s question was confrontational, a challenge. Sarek wondered why she should care at all. 

“My son is not clan-less,” Sarek responded. He had dealt with enough _emotional_ species to understand that she was not talking about clans when she referred to his son, but perhaps she could infer that they should drop the subject. 

“No, but he is half-Human,” she said. 

Truth. 

“He is physiologically Vulcan,” Sarek said.

Also truth. 

“Of course,” T’Karik said, nodding her head. “I only mean that prejudice does not much care for logic.”

“Then it is beneficial that our society functions on logic,” Sarek agreed.

“Mmm yes,” T’Karik said softly. “That’s what they say, isn’t it?” 

Her vernacular was Standard, but informal Standard, which Sarek rarely heard on Vulcan. Sarek was reminded again of his elder son, the fully Vulcan one, whose eyes flashed much like T’Karik’s as he argued. 

Amanda appeared perturbed by what they were saying, her expression concerned. She had always worried too much about Spock, about how he was handling his peers. She wanted him to have whatever he wanted, and she always saw more of the so-called ‘prejudice’ that no one would show Sarek. 

Sarek supposed that perhaps this clan-less Vulcan _empathized_ with Spock, although such a connection was tenuous at best. The struggles of two minorities hardly needed to be linked. 

“Well, I suppose when I married a Vulcan ambassador that I should not have expected dinner guests to be treated with light topics,” Amanda forced a laugh. “There is a saying on Terra to avoid discussing money, religion, and politics.” 

T’Karik smiled at Amanda, and Sarek averted his gaze from the odd girl. “But those are the only fun topics, Lady Amanda.”

His wife’s subsequent laughter was meant to diffuse the situation, he was sure, but he found his patience running short. His trip had been long, and he was tired. Amanda seemed to sense his displeasure, even if her mental sense of him was relatively weak, and she grew silent, letting her laugh fade to a soft smile.

“ _Come in for dinner._ ,” his wife said, switching to Vulcan, which—he was loathe to admit—calmed him.

The girl followed behind he and his wife silently, and Sarek could not help but feel that her gaze was a physical weight on him. He was not so emotional to say that he disliked anyone he knew so little, but he found that he did not wish to spend more time than necessary around the girl with the dark, rebellious eyes. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

“You and _Sa’mekh_ had a strained relationship for years,” Selik said. He was sitting on the edge of the bed Amanda was sleeping in for their stay in the past. “And _Sa’mekh_ was _trying_ to be nice to you. You surely did not expect our Grandfather to take kindly to you in this era.”

The rooms that the Lady Amanda had given each of them were grand but austere. Selik could see how architecture on New Vulcan was trying to capture the bold and ancient beauty of concrete built from Vulcan clay.

“No,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t really make it feel any better. You should have seen the disapproval, the _condescension_. It’s like the last time we time-travelled all over again, but this time with Grandfather.” Amanda frowned. “Actually, it’s worse because at least that Spock was trying, in his own Vulcan way. Grandfather is just…scary.”

“Perhaps a bit,” Selik admitted. “At least he seems keen to leave us to ourselves. His _discomfort_ with our presence may actual serve us. If he merely dislikes us, he will be less likely to probe our backgrounds. If that dislike moves into mistrust, we should begin worrying.”

“Let’s stop going to dinner,” Amanda said. “That was fucking awful. I don’t think I’ve ever been that uncomfortable.” 

“It was…silent,” Selik said, a sort of agreement. 

“I think Sarek was actually trying to keep me from sitting next to Spock.”

“I believe he may be concerned about Spock’s adherence to Surak’s precepts. He and Spock have their fallout this year,” Selik reminded, his throat going slightly hoarse. “They will not speak again until _Ko’mekh’il_ dies.” 

Amanda’s gaze dropped. “I know.” Her fingers passed softly over the PADD in her lap. “I wish we hadn’t landed here, in this time. Maybe when Father was younger it would have been easier.”

“Perhaps,” Selik said. “But we had little control over when we would come.”

“Yeah.”

“We should sleep,” Selik said. He did not wish to ponder what could be or what could have been. They could not afford to put that weight on themselves. Their current purpose must simply be enough.

“You’re right,” Amanda agreed, a forced smile on her face. 

When Selik collected his things and turned to leave, Amanda stepped closer to him, her gaze serious. 

“Thank you, Selik, for coming with me,” she said softly. 

“I want to save him too,” Selik said, and he had to look down. The emotions inside of him were too much. 

“But you didn’t want to come,” she insisted. “I just want you to know that I appreciate it was hard for you. And I like you how you are. Never, ever think that I wish you were more like me, okay?”

“Amanda, you and I are not our father or our grandfather,” Selik said, forcing himself to meet her gaze, even though it was uncomfortable for him. “I think, in this case, we are something better. I have not wished for either of us to be something that we are not in a very long time. You say I wish that I were Vulcan, but that is not true. I am a hybrid of Human and Vulcan, and I am at peace with my nature. You should be, too.” Selik smiled at her, a rare occurrence for him, but he knew Amanda would appreciate it. “Do not let Grandfather make you feel any less about yourself, _ko’kai_. He does not understand yet.”

Amanda had tears in her eyes, which made Selik even more uncomfortable, so he stepped back from her. 

“Goodnight, Amanda,” he said moving toward the door.

“Selik, you’re a sweetheart, you know that, right?” Amanda said, a grin on her face even though her eyes were still shiny. 

Selik kept his expression neutral as he met her eyes again. “I trust that you will keep my secret.” 

Amanda’s laughter followed him as he left her and moved to his neighboring room. 

Although he had put forward a confident front for his sister, he found himself troubled by their evening. He had not said much to his grandfather. In fact, he had purposefully avoided speaking to him. 

He was not troubled in the way Amanda was. Her fears were seated in her own insecurities, and he lived on New Vulcan among Vulcans and had learned long ago to rise above the presumptions of others. Not to mention, he _knew_ Sarek in a way that Amanda did not. They were quite close in the future, and he understood the viewpoint of his _Sa’mekh’al_ , even as misguided as it was in this time period. He could not feel animosity or anger. Only perhaps a bit of sadness. 

The sadness brought him to thoughts of their grandmother, their _Ko’mekh’il_ that would die in the coming years. He had left the future with the firm belief that they would not change anything in the past, and if at all possible, not even interact with anyone who may know them in the future. He also knew that his sister would have an incredibly difficult time adhering to this, despite her assurances to the contrary. 

He could already see the sadness growing in her eyes. Calling Amanda Grayson for help had been a mistake. He knew it was only a matter of time before his sister suggested they try to change her fate, to tell Amanda Grayson to keep her hand in Spock’s when the planet crumbled beneath her feet or even to tell her when to make a trip to Terra and avoid the whole catastrophe. 

Selik had to be the strong one, had to say no, and his resolve was already growing strained. Were they not changing the destiny of time by even being here? Should they not just let Spock die? Did this qualify as interference already? Why not save two people instead of one?

As Selik crawled into his bed, feeling utterly exhausted, his chest was heavy with responsibility. He had been so sure that a trip for research purposes would even fulfill the Prime Directive of which Starfleet was so keen (when it suited their purposes). 

In some ways, the destruction of Vulcan was part of Selik’s own narrative. The narrative of Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock was forever altered by the arrival of Nero and the Destruction of the Vulcan. In fact, according to Spock Prime, Selik and his sister did not exist in his timeline. The loss of Spock’s planet had changed their father so much that the trajectory of his life and his family had been forever altered. 

As Selik let sleep take him, his final thoughts were about timelines and justification of altering them. A vision of Amanda Grayson falling into crumbling rock filled his dreams, and he could not help but wonder if his grandmother had never died, would Spock’s life still have twisted toward James Kirk? Would Amanda and Selik Kirk exist in a future where Amanda Grayson lived?


End file.
